The Legend of Zaden: Chronicles
by ParadoxBattleZone
Summary: The third and last book of the series. This chronicles the lives of many characters of the first two stories before, during, or after the events of the books. HIGHLY recommended that the first two books be read.
1. The Bard

**_Twenty years after the Oblivion Siege of the Imperial City…_**

In the city of Balmora, the streets of the market district seemed congested with people. The sun had reached its high point in its daily journey across the sky. In one corner of said district, located a short walk from the main street, there sat a lone Dunmer. His attire was simple: a robe of cheap but durable stone-colored cloth. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat atop his head that kept his face in shadow and out of sight. On his back was strapped a spear of black metal but in his hands was held a lute. Sitting on the ground, his legs folded, the Dunmer, without the need of an audience, began to play a stirring, powerful ballad, accompanying it with his voice.

**_Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_Hero of Morro,_**

**_slayer of evil,_**

**_and ender of sorrow._**

**_Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_what hope you have brung,_**

**_what challenges you have fought,_**

**_and what peace you have sung._**

**_Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_Pilgrimage head,_**

**_leader of followers,_**

**_through darkness they tread._**

**_Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_you act as their light,_**

**_cast hope upon worthy,_**

**_while others you Smite._**

**_Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_what power you have,_**

**_the bestowings of many,_**

**_make the armor you clad._**

**_Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_with the might you have obtained,_**

**_you could send Nirn to your feet,_**

**_yet humble you remain._**

**_Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_with three hundred at command,_**

**_you entered Red Mountain,_**

**_and sought out His dark hand._**

**_And Nerevar, Nerevar,_**

**_with courage undeterred,_**

**_you rose over darkness,_**

**_and slew Dagoth Ur._**

**_…_**

**_In years that proceeded,_**

**_much more has occurred,_**

**_the Siege of Cyrodiil,_**

**_through your might it was purged._**

**_But now you have vanished,_**

**_to where I not know,_**

**_but I sing in the hopes,_**

**_that again you shall show._**

**_…_**

The Dunmer signified he had finished his song by placing his lute to his side on the ground. As he did, he noticed something he had not whilst playing: he gained an audience of one. Lifted his head slightly, he looked up to look into the eyes of he who stopped to listen: a small Redguard boy, perhaps no more than ten years of age.

The Dunmer gave the child a slight smile. "Did the young one enjoy my ballad?" he asked.

The youngling shrugged his shoulders in response. "It was ok, I suppose," he replied bluntly.

"I thank you for your words… but perhaps there is _more_ you can thank me with?" The Dunmer then slid his left foot forward to give two light kicks of the hat of loose septums that was placed on the ground in front of him.

"Uh, sorry, sir, but I just spent my money for the day on _this_," said the boy, holding up the sweet roll in his right hand.

"… I see," whispered the Dunmer in slight irk. "Well, I thank you for your appreciation of my song regardless. Now, if you will excuse me," he continued as he sat up from the ground with lute in hand, "I shall see if _other_ parts of this city are more generous with their loose currency. Good day to you, child."

As the Dunmer began to walk off to the North, the youngling stopped him. "Wait, sir, I have a question!"

The elf turned back to the child. "Indeed?" he asked.

"That person you were singing about, 'Nerevar,' is he real?"

Surprised by the boy's question, the elf literally took a step backwards from shock. "Is he _real_?" he repeated in disbelief. The Dunmer then crouched down to eye level with the young Redguard. "My little youngling, what in Oblivion _do_ they teach you in your schools these days?"

"I was schooled by my mother and father," the boy stated. "They taught me all that I know."

The Dunmer gave a smirk, knowing what the boy's statement conveyed. Having traveled much of Tamriel, the Dunmer knew the land well. He knew that the races of this land, while they co-existed in relative peace with each other, were for the most part _oblivious_ to each other's religions. The Dunmer saw this child as a perfect example of such ignorance.

"I see…" said the Dunmer. "Well, youngling, let me tell you that the one I sung of, Nerevar, _is_ real. He walked among the people of Vvardenfell a long time ago, perhaps at least twice your lifespan ago. During that time, there _did_ exist and evil by the name of Dagoth Ur, and Nerevar, the reincarnation of the long dead Hero _Indoril Nerevar_, rose from anonymity and vanquished the dark hand of Dagoth Ur.

Have you, at the very least, been taught of Dagoth Ur?" When the child shook his head in response, the Dunmer could not help but shake his head. "What has Nirn come to?" he mused aloud. "The younger generations know not of the past, what molded the very world they live in…

Oh, I apologize. I wished not to place blame upon you, child. I am nothing more than an aging man who, perhaps, clings too _tightly_ to the past… Is that all you wished to ask me, young one?"

"Um… How do you know all this about Nerevar?"

The Dunmer smiled and gave a light chuckle. "Because," he replied, "I was once a close ally to Nerevar himself."

"You were? What was he like?"

"Hmm… He was, in many ways, a common man of common thought… but he was _more_ than a man. He was courageous, pure of heart, and willing to sacrifice himself, if need be, to ensure the protection of others. He was a good friend…"

"Um, sir? That last part of your song: you said that you do not know where he is. Is that true as well?"

"Indeed it is. After the Siege of Cyrodiil, 'The Oblivion Siege,' I left him to become an adventurer; to travel the lands and see all that there is to see of Nirn. I have not seen him since the day I left him. _Where_ he is I know not, but I do not worry for him too much." Returning to a stand, the Dunmer looked upward to the cloudless sky above. "I know he is safe, wherever he may be…"

"… Hey, sir," said the young Redguard, "your eyes look _weird_. Are you _blind_ or something?"

Voicing a laugh, the Dunmer looked back down to the lad's face. "In a manner of speaking…" he replied.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Figure out who it is yet? Well, if that last part didn't give it away... you _obviously _haven't been reading the first two stories well enough! GO BACK AND DO IT OVER!

Ok, joking aside, for those who haven't figured it out, the bard was none other than Varon Varvur. As he said, after the events of the second book, he decided to take on the life of an adventurer. We know that Varon never enjoyed his posh life within Castle Ebonheart, so _this_ is in stark contrast to the life he once lived. In fact, it can be viewed as the exact _opposite_. Either way, he seems content with such a simplistic living, so who are we to judge?

This is but the first part to our chronicles. More shall be posted in the future, I promise you. Keep in-touch for future installments...


	2. Garothmuk

Part 2: Garothmuk

**_Twenty-seven Years before the Oblivion Siege of The Imperial City..._**

_Pain like this should never be endured. It is not only that which is physical, but that which hurts you from within as well, gnawing at your confidence until you feel as if your very existence is meaningless. Such is the pain **I** have endured for six years now, since I was twelve years of age. All this, all this anguish, at **their** hands…_

"Get up!" demanded the young boy's opponent. He was an Imperial of about thirty years of age. His tanned head was shaven clean as well as the rest of his face. His strong build was housed in a heavy steel armor, constructed in the style of Imperial Legion. In his right hand he held a simple long sword, a sword he currently had resting atop his right shoulder.

"I_ said_ get _up_, you worthless Orc!" the Imperial continued.

The Imperial looked down at his opponent, a young Orc that knelt on his right knee from pain. Blood trickled across and down his skin from cuts across his forearms, biceps, and chest. Grunting the entire way, the young Orc, his black hair tied into a warrior's ponytail, rose to his feet and lifted his face to his opponent.

"I_ have_ a name," he growled at the Imperial. "It is _Garothmuk_."

"I give not a _damn_ what your name is, Orc," the man shot back. "You are not deserving of being referred to by that name. However, may I remind you, you shall _never_ refer to me by _my_ name: Cid. Rather, you shall _always_ address me, an my allies, as _'Master.'_ Is that understood clearly?"

"… Yes… _Master_," Garothmuk seethed through his teeth.

"Good. Now, prepare yourself!"

The Orc picked up from off the ground both his weapons: two matching claymore swords. Even for an Orc, to wield a _two_-handed sword in one hand, no less _two_ of them, is quite the feat. The Orc's skill in combat was great, but against he who he fought, and in the weakened state he was in, he stood no match.

With a roar, young Garothmuk charged the Imperial and swung both swords in an overhead chop. The Imperial, however, sidestepped just as the blades fell and, swinging his sword at the Orc, cut a bloody line across the right of his stomach, causing the Garothmuk to fall over in pain once again.

"Oh, come now," Cid taunted. "You are not putting up a good show for your _other_ masters, are you?" The others in question sat in the grass not ten feet away. All the same age as Cid, there sat a male Imperial archer with short, blonde hair, a giant of a Redguard with a double-headed axe held to his back, and a man with short red hair. All but the redhead wore similar armor to that of Cid (the other wore the robes of a mage.)

Garothmuk attempted to rise to his feet, but the pain that inflicted him, coupled with the loss of blood, prevented him from doing so. He attempted to stand up three times, only to fall flat onto his stomach. Watching the Orc's valiant attempt to keep on fighting, he gave a loud scoff. "Useless!" he spat. "You seem to get more pitiful by the day, Orc… Jaras!" called out Cid to the redhead, "get over here and patch up our protégé!"

Voicing a loud sigh, expressing his _extreme_ distain for the task he was ordered to do, he rose to his feet and walked over to the bloody Orc. Bending down and channeling mana into his arms, he hovered his hand over Garothmuk's wounds, healing them in an instant. As he did, he took great pleasure in berating the Orc further. "You are waste of mana, Orc," he whispered into his ear. "I stopped _fully_ healing your wounds long ago, you know that? Let the scars I leave behind be a reminder of your failures."

Once all the wounds were "healed" and Garothmuk felt strength return to his body, he slowly rose to his feet and sheathed his claymores. Turning to face Cid, he _begrudgingly_ bowed his head and repeated what he had said many a time before. "I apologize that I have failed you, Master," the Orc recited. "I shall strive to become greater in our next duel."

"Such is the line I have heeded many a time before," Cid said back, "and yet you seem to fail on that every time." This was _truthfully_ not the case. In the many years of such duels, Garothmuk's overall skill in fighting has grown from nonexistent to beyond that which most men of norm could hope to achieve. However, again, against the opponents he fought against, not to mention his severe age difference, the young Orc was fighting a losing battle.

"If you're done licking your wounds, Orc," said Cid, "then we shall move on! _Do_ try and keep up this time."

With that uttering, the other Imperial Legion soldiers rose to their feet and mounted their horses, which stood not too far away. As they and Cid mounted, Garothmuk walked over to where his folded clothes sat in the grass. He had but two items: a shirt and pants. The shirt, which was _originally_ a shade of cobalt was now a stained and ripped rag, brown with dried blood. The pants were not that much better, but since their material was brown to begin with, the blood was less visible. However, it was nonetheless ripped.

Slipping those articles onto his body, followed shortly after by slinging his swords over both shoulders, and finished with the slinging of a dirty backpack over his shoulders, the Orc took his instructed position _behind_ the group of four riders. Once set, the soldiers rode back onto the main road and followed it southeast. With not a horse of his own, Garothmuk was forced to follow his masters on foot.

_Such has been my lot in life for the last six years. With their threat of death looming over my head, I have obeyed and followed these heartless creatures as they have made their way back to their homeland: the providence of Cyrodiil. The thought of **leaving** them has crossed my mind many a time, but their allegiance, the Imperial Legion, may have the knowledge of the location of the Black Claw, the very bandit clan that destroyed my village and raped my mother…_

_ Once I know of their position, they shall receive no sympathy at the blades of my swords…_

-o0o-

After a week or so of travel southeast, the five reached one of their intended resting points onto their journey: the city of Dragonstar. The city was located a few day's travel from the point where the borders of High Rock and Skyrim meet. Due in part to this, part of the city's population and architecture was a mix of Nord and Breton. However, seeing at this town was located in the providence of Hammerfell, the population was mostly Redguards. Orc presence in this place, however, was sparse.

Following his masters into the city, young Garothmuk was forced to endure the stares and gasps of onlookers. While _some_ of those gasps were ones of appall, saddened to see the sight of such a clearly wounded individual, most were of disgust, rather appalled at seeing the sight of an _Orc_ in what was clearly Redguard lands.

The four Imperial Legion soldiers, arriving in this town at such a late hour, the sun setting behind the distant mountains to the west, sought out an inn to spend the night. Stabling their horses and finding a suitable inn, the four stood outside the front door, all with their eyes glaring down on Garothmuk.

"Do not think today will be _any_ different, Orc," the Redguard, Pyke, reminded the Orc. "You have no place inside an inn. You belong out on the streets with the rest of the scum, just like how we _found_ you. Now get lost! We'll seek you out in the morn. If you try to escape, we _will_ hunt you down and kill you."

Giving a nod, Garothmuk turned away from his masters and set out into the cold, empty streets of Dragonstar, searching for an alley to claim for the night's refuge. Finding one not a few buildings away from the inn itself, the Orc tucked himself in a corner and began unpacking his bedding: a single, thin, filthy quilt, a quilt that was one of the very few things he kept from his home. Wrapping himself as best he could in the quilt, the Orc rested his back against a wall and began to doze off.

_Why do I **not **leave those demonous soldiers? They will be the eventual death of me. For what reason did I even agree to remain with them…? Ah, yes, **revenge**. The information I desire, information with which I shall exact death upon those that have brought my life's initial pain upon me. If it means spending the rest of my life in the servitude of those** bastards**, it will be worth it…_

-o0o-

With a swift kick at his ribs, Garothmuk was awoken by the sound of Cid's voice screaming "Wake up, _filth_!"

Clutching his side, the young Orc quickly packed up his things and rose to his feet. His masters stood before him appearing clean and _well_ rested. "You know not what you missed within the inn," the blonde archer, Ley, taunted. "We slept like kings last night. Not to say we didn't _deserve_ it, of course… unlike _you_, Orc. We head off _now_, scum."

Just like that, the Orc followed the Imperial Legion soldiers out of Dragonstar. Continuing southeast for a few more weeks, they made one more night of rest in the city of Elinhir, a city not far from where the borders of Skyrim, Hammerfell, and Cyrodiil converged. As was the case in Dragonstar, Garothmuk was forced to sleep in the streets.

In the evening of one day, a two day's travel through mountainous regions north of the Cyrodiil border, a sight which Garothmuk had longed to see appeared before him: the Great Cyrodillic Wall. Glowing in the light of the setting sun, the riders quickened their pace to the wall, leaving the Orc struggling to keep up with them. Approaching a large gate, a trio of guards was sent from the wall to meet the four riders.

The leader of the guards stepped forward and addressed Cid, the clear leader of the group. "State you names and business," he ordered.

"We are all of the Imperial Legion, sentry," he answered. "I am Cid. The Redguard is Pyke. The one of blonde hair is Ley and the one of red hair is Jaras. We are turning from many years of patrol in the northern providences. We wish _dearly_ to return home."

"What news is there from the upper lands, Sir?" asked the guard, now recognizing that he was beneath rank in comparison to Cid.

"Not much. High Rock is _still_ in civil unrest, as it has been for years. Other than that, there is not much else to speak of."

"I see… Well, you are welcome back within the borders of- Who is _this_?" the sentry asked, pointing a finger to the Orc the stood behind them.

"Oh, _him_?" Cid asked dismissively. "He is a child we rescued from a raided village in Orsinium recently. He had been with us for much of our journey and has proven to be a fair fighter." Then, pivoting himself around so that his face could not be seen by the guards, Cid's face turned from one of friendliness to one of sneaking evil. "Is that not _correct_?" he asked the Orc.

"… Yes, that is correct," Garothmuk whispered in reply.

"… Very well," said the head sentry. "You may pass through into Cyrodiil if you wish."

"I thank you, guard, but we will spend the night within the wall to rest, if you would permit it."

"Of course." The lead sentry turned to one of the others. "See to it that our guests have bedding and rations for the night." With a nod, the guard ran back to the wall to pass the message on.

-o0o-

The four soldiers entered the Wall, Garothmuk following in tow. Meeting with more sentries, the five were led into a corridor of living quarters. Reaching the forth door on the right, a sentry unlocked it. Within were five, large beds, made with fresh clean sheets. "You may spend the night here," stated the sentry. "You may stay as long as you wish."

"I thank you," said Cid politely, "but we plan on staying for only this night." As the others began unloading themselves of their gear and armor, Garothmuk took that opportunity to approach one of the beds. Reaching downward, he pressed his hand against its heavenly soft surface. Garothmuk had not slept on a bed in years, longer than he cared to remember.

Unfortunately, his hopes for sleeping on the bed seemed for not. The young Orc suddenly felt the tight grip on Cid's hand on his right shoulder. "Looks comfortable, does it not?" he asked threatenly. "You know your place, Orc. _This_ is not for _your_ likes. You sleep in the hallways, now get!" With that last word, he thrusted the Orc toward the door.

_I suppose it was too much to ask for-_

"Sir?" asked the sentry that brought them to the room. "Will you not let the Orc sleep in the bed?"

Without an iota of hesitation in his voice, Cid turned to face the sentry and replied, "Why _would_ I? He is not _deserving_ of it."

"… I mean not to question you, but this Orc looks as if he has walked through Oblivion and back! Are you so heartless that you would not allow him such a given comfort?" The sentry's eyes seemed to spot flames from his seething anger. Seeing such anger, Cid seemed to give a quick change of heart.

"Of _course_ not," he replied. "Why sort of monster would I be to deny him such a thing. Garothmuk, please come back here."

_He never refers to me as my true name. What in Oblivion is going on?_

With great caution, Garothmuk returned to Cid's side. "You are most likely tired," Cid told the Orc in a light voice, accompanying it with a smile. Though it appeared a warming smile to the sentry, to _Garothmuk_, it sent a chill through his heart. "Go ahead, sleep."

The Orc approached the bed. Slipping the claymores off his shoulders and propping them against the wall next to the headboard, Garothmuk, with great trepidation, lowered himself onto the mattress. To the young man, who had not felt "soft" in years, the mattress felt like something from the graces of Azura herself.

Falling backwards and resting his head on the pillow, the Orc fell asleep seconds later…

-o0o-

Garothmuk awoke with the feeling of fingers wrapped firmly around his neck. He shot his eyes open to find the fingers connected to none other than Cid. From how dark it was in the room, it was clearly the middle of the night. "Thought I was actually being _generous_," Cid taunted in a venomous whisper. "You are more foolish than I thought, Orc. Hope you enjoyed what sleep you had for you shall have no more." Lifting him off the bed with the strength of his right arm and grabbing the Orc's gear with his left, Cid carried Garothmuk to the door and threw him into the cold of the hallway, then throwing his gear on top of him.

When the door slammed shut, the echoes seemed to repeat endlessly in the Orc's mind. _And here I thought I would have, at the very least, **one** night of a simple pleasure. But even that has been denied me… I suppose I truly **am** undeserving of such things…_

Garothmuk had not wept nor cried on years, but on this night, he did. He knew not why tears did not so easily come in the past, but on this night, they flowed like rivers from his now swollen eyes. The tears only ceased when he spotted from his right peripheral the glow of an approaching lantern and the sound of armored footsteps.

From down the hallway came a lone sentry, holding an oil lantern in his left hand. He quickly approached the weeping Orc. "What is all this racket?" he asked in clear annoyance. "What is going- Orc? Why do you weep so?"

"… I am not deserving of a bed," replied the Orc as he stood up from the ground. "I am deserving of _nothing_, it would seem."

The sentry seemed at a loss of words in response to such melancholy. "I, uh… Well, what brought this about?"

"Much more than can be uttered in a single night…"

"…Well, I cannot allow you to meander the halls at this late an hour. Please return to your quarters."

"You _cannot_ ask that of me."

The guard voiced an annoyed grunt. "Please, Orc, if you do not go willing, I will be forced to put you in your quarters _mys_-"

"NO!" the Orc suddenly shot back at the guard, causing him to jump and nearly drop his lantern. "Do _not_ put me back in the presence of those _monsters_."

"Monsters? Are they not your masters?"

"Indeed they _are_, but they are far from your vision of what a true master is… Look at me, sentry. Can you see the scars of my flesh? The rags I wear? Cid told you I was found not a few days or so ago, yes?" The guard nodded. "He _lied_. I have been in their company for six _years_, and the scars that adorn my person are ones of _their_ making!"

The guard's mouth dropped open, expelling a long breath. "D- Do you speak the truth?" he asked in disbelief to what he had just heard.

"Indeed," Garothmuk replied. "Behind that door sleeps the most vile, warped men to walk the surface of Nirn… and I am living proof of their treachery."

"I- I… Follow me, Garothmuk. You must speak to the head of the night watch. He would want to hear this."

Turning himself around, the sentry ran off toward the direction he had come. Garothmuk followed the guard willingly. He led the Orc through a series of narrow corridors through the inner workings of the Wall. Reaching the surface, to the very top of the gate, Gaorthmuk breathed deep from the chilled night air.

"Wait here but a moment," the sentry told the Orc before heading further down the walkway. Returning a few moments later, the sentry had with him another guard, one clad in armor of significantly higher status. His helmet hid his face. "This is he," the first sentry advised his superior.

The second sentry (the superior) approached the Orc until he was within a few paces of him. He scanned the Orc's image from foot to crown of head. "Indeed," said his muffled voice from behind his helmet. "He _is_ quite damaged."

"I am not a _house_," Garothmuk shot back, all the while glaring at the man who stood before him.

"… Of course," the man quickly retracted. "You speak that your masters have inflicted that which scars you, yes?" The Orc nodded. "And for the past six years, this has occurred, yes?" He nodded once more. "Well… why do you not kill them?"

"Believe me," replied the Orc, "I would _gladly_ kill them, but I need information, and only by traveling with them can I find such information."

"What is it you seek?"

"… The location of the Black Claw," Garothmuk simply replied. "I wish revenge upon them for the pillaging of my village and the rape of my mother."

"… Then you need not follow those soldiers any further," the superior then stated. "Here, at the Great Cyrodillic Wall, we keep in close contact with the neighboring providences. Garothmuk, we can offer you a home here within the wall and during your stay, we can relay all information we receive on the Black Claw to you… You can now be free of those four soldiers."

_Free… A word I have thought inaccessible for myself… But it is not within my grasp… But yet…_

"No," Garothmuk said suddenly. "Not _yet_ free. To truly be free, I must rid myself of my masters."

The helmeted sentry gave a single nod of his head. "Then do so," he said.

The other guard took a step forward. "Sir!" he addressed the other. "Are you truly allowing the murder of your brothers of service?"

"Garothmuk stated truth in his words. I truly believe what he had stated. Those who he has traveled with _truly_ are wretched things. They have disgraced the name of the Imperial Legion… And so, they must be silenced.

Go forth, young Garothmuk, and rid this world of their evil."

With a most humble of bows, the Orc thanked the sentries. And with his newly obtained permission, Garothmuk walked back into the innards of The Wall and returned to the guard's sleeping quarters. Slipping in silently, the Orc was content in waiting until morn before exacting his plan.

-o0o-

The first to wake of the traveling Imperial Legion soldiers was Cid. It was only after giving a stretch of his arms over his head that he recognized the Orc standing in a corner of the room, the door to his left. "What the- Who in Oblivion let _you_ back inside?" Cid immediately asked.

"_I_ did," Garothmuk replied.

"Wha- Have quite the balls this morn, do we? Perhaps you are just itching for your next punishment!" It was at that moment that the three others awoke from Cid's yells and saw for themselves the Orc's defiance.

"I think _not_," Garothmuk then spat back. "I shall have no more of that from you. Not _now_. Not _ever_!"

"That is it! I have had enough of your defiance!" Cid reached for his sword, which he kept propped against the wall next to his bed. "Prepare to die, you little-" Feeling something was amiss, Cid turned his head to next to his bed to find that his sword was missing.

"I did away with _that_," Garothmuk stated, "as well as your other weapons." Pyke, Ley, and Jaras looked to the sides of their beds to see that, indeed, their weapons were missing. "Now," the Orc continued, "I will do what I _should_ have done a long time ago: _dispose_ of you four."

"Y- You son of a- Jaras!" Cid yelled to his comrade, "burn this insolent fool with your flame!"

The mage leapt from his bed and, taking a fighting stance, reared back his right hand in preparation of throwing a ball of fire at the Orc. It was for naught, however, for before the flames were even lit, the Orc, with surprising speed, unsheathed one of his claymores and, clutching it like a spear, hurled it as such at the mage.

With straight and true aim, the blade of the sword flew across the room and impaled the mage in the very center of his chest. The mage sprayed blood from his mouth in a wet cough. He looked down to see the weapon stuck into him and the flow of crimson that fell from the wound. Taking in one final breath, the mage collapsed to the floor.

The remaining three could only look on in stun at their fallen comrade. Knowing him to be dead, they took no initiative in attempting to wake him. Instead, one by one, their enraged eyes turned back to Jaras's murderer. Pyke was the one to make retaliation. "You _bastard_!" he yelled at the Orc. "You will die for what you have done!"

Pyke, choosing to use the bed as a stepping stone, jumped off it and hurled his entire hulking bodyweight at the Orc. This, however, proved to be a fatal mistake. Before the Redguard's feet even returned to the ground, Garothmuk unsheathed his remaining claymore and, in the same motion, made an overhead chop at Pyke. The man was dead before he even hit the ground, his entire body from his navel upward cleaved in two.

With a film of blood now coating his front, Garothmuk turned his eyes to the two remaining foes: Ley and Cid. Though Cid remained by his bedside, frozen in fear, Ley had backed up against the wall, putting as much distance between himself and the Orc as possible. "B- By the Gods!" Ley exclaimed as he looked upon the bloody sight of his slain friends. "He's a monster!... Cid, do something!"

"W- What?" he shot back. "What in Oblivion am _I_ going to do? I have not my weapons!"

"You defeated him many times before! You can do it aga-"

Before the word was finished, Gaorthmuk's second claymore flew an inch from Cid's head and struck Ley straight into the center of _his_. His now limp body hung from the sword, a waterfall of blood flowing from behind it and down the stone wall's jagged surface. Cid's now trembling body tuned itself around to face Garothmuk.

"And then there stood one," the Orc stated cryptically. "I purposely saved _you_ for last, Cid." Garothmuk began to take measured footsteps toward the Imperial. "We shall have one last duel, you and I. This one shall be to the death, of course, but I predict a _new_ victor today."

Cid, now in panic, hopped over two beds and reached Ley's body, which still hung lifelessly from the sword in the wall. He gripped the handle and attempted to dislodge it only to have it not move a single inch. He struggled and struggled as the Orc approached ever closer.

"I do not think you will be removing _that_ any time soon," the young Orc advised. "No, at the strength I threw it, only _I_ can retrieve it." Passing over Jaras's body and stepping into the pool of crimson that surrounded it, the Orc bent down and slid from the corpse one of his claymores. Taking it into hand, he continued his approach of Cid.

Now pinned against a wall and with no escape, Cid flattened himself against the stone and, for perhaps the first time in many years, began to _beg_ for his life. "Garothmuk! Garothmuk, please! I beg of you, spare me!"

The response he received from the Orc was an uproarious laugh. "How pitiful this is! To see one who until yesterday held such power over an individual, to only _now_ beg said person for their _life_? What delicious irony this is!"

"G- Garothmuk, your heart still holds compassion. Please, find it within yourself to give some to me!"

"_You_? No, your blackened soul is _far_ beyond redemption, Cid." The Orc tightened the grip of his sword. "Farewell."

Cid yelled what would be his final scream; a scream that would freeze the blood of average men. The young Orc, with vengeance boiling within his veins, began to swing and cleave wildly into the Imperial body, each cut spraying a thick crimson outward. It mattered not to Garothmuk that the blood began to cover the entirety of his front. In fact, he _tasted_ the blood that spewed from the now hacked and disfigured body of Cid.

It tasted sweeter than anything he had ever imbibed before.

-o0o-

From beyond the door of the sleeping quarters, the quarters in which the murderous act was being committed, the group of sentries (with the head of the night watch in attendance) could only stand by and listen to the horrifying screams that emanated from within. When the screams suddenly vanished, the men waited on baited breath, curious of the Orc's outcome.

Suddenly, the door flew open and that emerged from the other side was a crimson Orc, his entire body wet with the blood of his slain. As he strode proudly out of the quarters, head held high and a sword clutched in each hand, the guards peaked into the room. What lay within was a most gruesome of sights: four slain corpses, one of which ripped and lacerated to the point of unrecognition, and every wall surface coated in a film of blood.

Young Garothmuk approached the helmeted sentry and, after sheathing his claymores, gave him an honored bow. "I thank you," he said, "for allowing me this pleasure."

"… It was the right thing to do," the man replied back with caution. "As I have previously stated, you are allowed shelter within the Great Cyrodillic Wall for as long as you wish."

"I thank you once more," the Orc said with another bow. "Now, there is something I need to ask of _you_."

"And what would that be…? A bath?"

For the first time in years, Garothmuk gave a slight laugh. "No… Tell me _everything_ you know of the Black Claw."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** A rather depressing look into one's past, is it not?

Here, we witnessed a pivotal point in Garothmuk's earlier life, a point _long before_ he joined up with Zaden and Perennia. He mentioned in the Cyrodiil story that he was under the servitude of Imperial Legion soldiers, soldiers that abused him repeatedly. Now that he has done away with them, his goal in life is to track down the Black Claw and take revenge for his village and his mother.

He would gain such vengeance many years later, at the age of twenty five.


	3. Zela

Part 3: Zela

The South Wall Cornerclub.

In the eyes of the average, unknowing citizen, this place is but a mere small, working class cornerclub and bar, built to serve the needs of the average man. One would assume as such for that is where many citizens of Balmora tend to entertain their late night hours either drinking or socializing amongst the many patrons there.

However, to the _knowing_ citizen, there is much more to this place than one would assume, for it is within this club that members of the Thieves Guild meet. It takes little stretch of the imagination to guess in what ventures this particular guild partakes in. That being said, those of the Thieves Guild are foremost _professionals_ and tolerate not in the least _petty_ crime.

Before the aforementioned club on this particular clear skied evening, the setting sun casting an orange glow upon all surfaces, stood a single woman: a Dunmer. Her attire would suggest a bit of her intended business _within_ the cornerclub: tight fitting dark brown leather armor that hugged and formed to every curve of her commendable body. Slipped in the belt loops on her waist were a number of small throwing knives of steel, as well as a pair of silver shortswords. Worn over her armor was a gray cloak and hood (the hood currently cast over her head.

And let us not forget her face. Oh and what a face it is. At a young age of only nineteen, she had been away from home and living on her own for no more than a year. But even a year's time did nothing to take away from the perfection of her beauty, for beautiful she was. Straight raven hair, parted slightly over her left eye, hung to a length that barely grazed her shoulders. Currently, her red Dunmer eyes were fixed upon the cornerclub's front door. They showed hesitation.

Taking in a deep breath, the Dunmer ventured forward and stepped into the club itself. The interior was dimly lit by the blue light of paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling. Immediately upon entering, she was met with the sight of a couple of drunken stragglers stumbling their way to the door. In their inebriation, they felt no remorse in putting their hand on the Dunmer's frame as they blatantly pushed her aside.

Brushing off the men's rudeness off, she ventured further into the club, knowing all too well the man she sought out. Along the way, through the dark hallway, she was met with the peering eyes of the club's attendants. No doubt _they_ were the actual thieves. Reaching a stairwell that led to the club's basement, the Dunmer was halted by a female Khajiit, clad in a full suit (sand the helm) of chitin armor (an armor created from the adhesion of layers of the shells of large insects, characterized by its bleached white appearance.)

"Who be you?" the Khajiit asked, speaking the dialect spoken by most Khajiit.

The female Dunmer took a pause before answering. "I am Zela," she replied. "I wish to join."

"… Join? Join what?" the Khajiit asked. She _clearly_ knew what the Dunmer spoke of, but she _acted_ as if she didn't.

"You know _damn well_ what, Khajiit," the Dunmer shot back, doing well to keep her voice from taking a hostile tone. "Where is your master?"

Seeing there was no persuading the Dunmer away from this place, the Khajiit relented. "Below," she replied. "Meet Breton. Corvus. He will be one to speak to."

Thank the Khajiit, Zela walked past her and down the stairwell. Making two more left turns, following the hallway further, brought the Dunmer to a lounge of sorts, a bar placed against the left wall and table and chairs scattered throughout the center of the room. The Dunmer scanned her eyes across the room until they met with the sight of a one that met the Khajiit's description: a male Breton. Zela could recognize, even from a distance, they the armor he wore was leather like hers, but differed in color: _his_ was black.

Zela approached the man with caution in her steps. When she ventured within a five foot radius of him, he made a quick turn about that caught the Dunmer temporarily off guard. The Breton was perhaps ten years older than Zela, his face dark with the warmth of the sun and his hair a deep jet black. He glared at the approaching Dunmer with his gray eyes and immediately dispensed with the question of "What business have you here?"

Zela reiterated what she had previously stated. "I wish to join," she replied.

"… I know not of what you speak of, young lady. Perhaps you are mistaken."

"I did not travel the length of Vvardenfell and back to merely be _mistaken_, Corvus. That _is_ you name, yes? Your associate was most kind in revealing this to me… Now, can we discuss my joining of your group of am I wasting my time being here?"

Corvus raised an curious and admiring eyebrow at the Dunmer display of ferocity. His eyes then scanned the length of Zela body to "size her up." After a moment of that, her finally spoke. "You _seem_ prepared for what we have in store… but _looking_ like a mage does not guarantee that fire will arise from your palms, yes?"

"Indeed. I am ready and willing to prove myself in whatever you have set upon me," Zela then declared.

Again, the eyebrows of Corvus rose in admiration. "We shall see…" He then turned his gaze to a point in the room to his left. "Dar'Raskar!" he called across the loud room. "Come here!"

A few moments later, a male Khajiit, clad in armor similar to that of Corvus, approached through the crowd. He took one brief glance at Zela before turning his gaze to the one that called him over. "What does Corvus ask of Khajiit?" he asked the Breton.

"It would seem we have fresh meat at our disposal," he replied, "meat that seeks our approval. Would you do the honors of breaking our new arrival in?"

"Ofcourse," Dar'Raskar replied, giving a bow of his head to Corvus. "Dunmer. Speak name to Khajiit."

"Zela," she immediately replied.

"… Follow Khajiit," he then ordered. Zela did so and followed Dar'Raskar out of the South Wall Cornerclub and back into the open air of the streets of Balmora. Once outside, the Khajiit wasted no time in reaching into a pocket of his armor and, retrieving a cigar and match from it, lighting and smoking it. The Khajiit led the Dunmer into a dark nook in-between two buildings before he finally spoke further to her.

"Dunmer will listen well to Khajiit," he began before taking another smoke. "Thieves Guild strong because of _strength_ of professionals. If lacking, member is dealt with. Zela has one chance in proving worth. If fail, Zela not get in. Understand?"

"Yes," she replied with a nod of her head.

"Good… Theft simple: diamond in store. Take jewel, leave, and no get caught. Simple. If Dunmer can not handle this theft, Dunmer not worth trouble of instating as member of guild…

Follow."

Zela followed the Khajiit further as he headed through the more crowded center of Balmora. Along the way, Dar'Raskar further explained his role in Zela's initiation theft. "Khajiit act as watcher," he clarified. "If Dunmer get caught, Khajiit return to Corvus and tell Corvus of Dunmer's failure. Khajiit not help Dunmer if caught."

The Khajiit eventually led Zela to a store on the near opposite side of the city as the cornerclub. A sign above the door read "Nalcarya of White Haven: Fine Alchemist." After regarding the store's front, Zela turned back to Dar'Raskar to find him sitting atop a nearby bolder, smoking from his cigar. Seeing that he was to be no further help, Zela entered the store alone.

She was met with the immediate sight of a guard, dawned in a full suit of bonemold armor (not the best of initial sights to have.) To her right upon entering was Nalcarya herself, a elderly looking High Elf, finely dresses in robes of respectable quality. Displayed to her left, against the right wall, was all the alchemic ingredients she had for sale. Of course, the one that caught Zela immediate attention was the large diamond, positioned on a shelve at waist's height.

Zela knew that before she could even attempt to steal the diamond, she would need to scope out the entire store for anything that could be of use. So, while she pretended to peruse the good Nalcarya had for sale, Zela multi-tasked by examining the room. the only thing she found of helpfulness was a lose shelf, located against the wall opposite where Nalcarya stood.

Seeing this her only means of procuring the diamond, Zela casually waited and pretended to peruse until a group of three entered the store. She watched as they walked around and ventured near the aforementioned shelf. When _they_ were near the shelf and the guard and Nalcarya had both their eyes averted from Zela, _that_ was when she struck.

From a tiny pocket in the left sleeve of her armor, Zela retrieved her smallest of throwing weapons: a needle like projectile no more than a inch long. With incredible aim, she discreetly threw the needle at the loose shelf, both causing it to crash down and imbedding the needle deep into the wall. When the crash sounded, both the guard and Nalcarya approached them, quickly accusing them of destroying the woman's store. It was in that moment and state of confusion that Zela pilfered the diamond and slipped out of the store.

Dar'Raskar had not moved from his spot atop the bolder; his cigar seemed three quarters done. He lifted his gaze to the Dunmer as Zela approached. "Has Dunmer thieved diamond?" the Khajiit asked.

With a nod and grin Zela presented the diamond before the Khajiit, to which he nodded back in approval. "Perhaps Dunmer is _not_ useless… Follow Khajiit back. Corvus will wish to here of this."

Once more Zela followed the Khajit back across the length of Balmora and, upon returning to the lower level of the club, Zela presented Corvus with the diamond, explaining to him in detail how she obtained it.

"So you created a distraction, did you?" he commented with enthuasium. "It would sound simple to think up, but you would be surprised at the number of amateur thieves who have not the brains to devise such a plan.

Nevertheless, you, Zela, have proven your skills worthy enough to enter our guild. Fom this moment on, you are now Zela, Toad of the Thieves Guild."

Zela thanked Corvus with an initial bow. "I greatly appreciate this," Zela said to him.

"Come to Dar'Raskar at any time for quets, being you are willing and able to perform. For now, though, please, have a few drinks and enjoy yourself."

Zela once more thanked Corvus and, taking him up on his suggestion, bought for herself a tall pitcher of ale. A few moments after she sat down and enjoyed her beer in her own personal silence, another sat across from her at the table. She was a Dunmer female as well, her attire a flowing black robe.

"Hi there," she greeted Zela, her voice a noticeable perk above Zela's. "I saw you speaking with Corvus but a moment ago. Just join?"

"Indeed," Zela replied.

"Well _that_ is good news to my ears. Not many woman here in the guild. Now it is you, I, and Habasi, the Khajiit upstairs. Apart from us three, the rest of us thieves are male. Makes things rather _unnerving_ for us lovely ladies, would you not agree?" the Dunmer joked.

Zela laughed. "Yes, well, I do suppose we woman must remain vigilant of peeking eyes, yes?... What be your name?"

"Ivela," she replied.

"How long have _you_ been in the service of this guild, Ivela?"

"Oh, perhaps no more than a year? Why do you ask?"

"Well, a thought preoccupies my thoughts, a thought that pertains to the operations of this guild."

"Oh? And what would that be?" Ivela asked.

"… In the service of the Thieves Guild, are you ever asked to _kill_?"

"_Kill_? Oh no, never! I've never been asked to silence anyone before and, as far as _I_ know, no one here in Balmora has yet to be asked to do so. I think you will be same from spilling any blood."

"That is good news to here," said Zela. "The _last_ thing I would want to do is kill…"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Ah, Zela. The heroine of the series. In this installment, we took a look at her _joining_ of the Thieves Guild. This chapter was, in a way, a cameo chapter, given the returning characters. One of which was Ivela, who appeared in the Morrowind story when Zaden, Zela, Varon, and Hui were trying to find Zela's parents. Zela and Ivela were good friends during their time as thieves.

Another cameo was Corvus. He appeared in the Cyrodiil story as the Gray Fox. Also, _before_ that moment, he and Zela were once lovers, a relationship that was no doubt broken when Zela left the guild.

Then, of course, there's Dar'Raskar, the Khajiit we all know and love. I suppose this chapter explains what Dar'Raskar was up to before the events of both the Morrowind and Cyrodiil books: thieving. At one point in his life, he must have traveled to Cyrodiil.

This chapter ended on somewhat of a forboading note. If you didn't catch it, Zela commented that the last thing she wanted to do was kill. This is _**major**_ foreshadowing to the reason she left the Thieves Guild: the accidental murder of a child after Zela murdered her mother in her sleep. It was the grief of those killings that made her leave.

But, as it has been stad before "One never quite the Thieves Guild." Once a thief, _always_ a thief. Before Zaden and Zela's confrontation with Gray Fox (Corvus) in the Cyrodiil book, we learn that Zela had been repeatedly visited by members of the Thieves Guild that "persuaded" her in rejoining. One can wonder as to _who _her visitors were...


	4. Dar'Raskar

Chapter 3: Dar'Raskar

In the Market District of the Imperial City, there existed a small, family run bar by the name of "The Feed Bag." Most who attended this establishment were, in common terms, "Regulars." It was not uncommon for someone to enter the bar and know _everyone_ that was there. Yes, it seemed that _everyone_ knew_ everyone_ there…

All but one.

Choosing to do so on his own free will, there sat in the darkest corner of the bar a lone Khajiit. His fur was the color of sand and had a silk like quality to it (not to mention it being very short.) His attire was a suit of dark brown leather armor. The many loops along the Khajiit's waist housed a number of throwing weapons, as well as a pair of short swords. With dirt colored cloak hung over his shoulders, the Khajiit sat in silence, taking the occasional sip of the tankard of ale that sat before him.

The Khajiit had no intention of meeting anyone that day, but as it were, there was _another_ that sought him out. Through the front door of the bar he entered through: a tall, rather thin Breton, distinguishable by his short, light blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and the rather regal clothing he wore. Noticing the Khajiit in an _instant_, he wasted no time in approaching and sitting opposite to him on the other side of the table.

His accent was the most distinguishable trait of this Breton. While his tone matched his attire in being regal, he had an insistence on using words that none others used. "Oi, Dar'Raskar," he greeted the Khajiit, his voice using a volume perhaps a _little_ too loud for the Khajiit's taste. "How have you been holding up lately? Rather well, I suspect?"

The Khajiit finally lifted his feline eyes to the Breton's face. "Vincent," he greeted the Breton. "How does Vincent fair?"

"Eh, cannot complain much. The Guild has been keeping me quite busy the past month or so. What of you? I suppose it should go without saying that _you_ are busy with Guild work."

In an instant, the Khajiit grew tired of the Breton's banter. Taking a gulp of his ale, Dar'Raskar dispensed with "Why had Vincent sought Khajiit out?"

"What, can a friend not share a pint with a fellow thief? Speaking of which- Oi! A tankard of lager here!" he called out across the bar.

"Vincent can do so if Vincent chooses to do so… but Khajiit can tell that Vincent had intent _other_ than friendly banter."

"Ah, indeed you are correct in that respect." A few seconds later, Vincent's lager was served to him and, once the waitress had left, the Breton leaned forward slightly as well as lowering the volume of his voice. "We have a request from Gray Fox _himself_."

The Khajiit's eyes flinched at the mention of that name. "Gray Fox?" he echoed back in a low voice. "What does Gray Fox ask of Khajiit and Vincent?"

"He speaks that," he began, "in the Imperial City, in the Talos Plaza, there lives a _traitor_ of the Guild. She left the guild over three years ago and since then has been able to evade our eye. But _now_, we know her location… and Gray Fox has called upon us _personally_ to meet with the traitor and _convince_ her to return to the Guild."

"Hmm…" said Dar'Raskar back. "For what reason did traitor leave Guild?"

"Not exactly sure. Some say it was because she unintentionally killed the child of a woman she was sent to assassinate; _another_ betrayer of the Guild. Bloody idiotic reason to leave if you ask _me_. The way I view it, she was merely disposing of potential witnesses."

"Perhaps… Who is traitor?" the Khajiit then asked.

"Ah, and _that_ is the best part of it: it is someone _you_ know, my feline friend: one of your old apprentices… Zela."

The Khajiit's eyes widened in recognition. "Zela…" he repeated aloud. "Khajiit _does_ remember Zela. Zela was good thief…"

"Yes, but what I have to say _next_ will tan your fur, my good chum: Take one guess as to who her _husband_ is."

"Zela is with _husband_? Khajiit would not peg Zela as one to marry… Khajiit have not clue. Tell Khajiit who husband is."

Vincent leaned in closer and whispered the answer. "Nerevar," he stated.

"Nerevar?" Dar'Raskar echoed with shock in his voice. "As in _the_ Nerevar? One who slayed Dagoth Ur?"

"The very same," Vincent replied as he leaned back in his chair. "But that is of no importants in the run of things. We are to meet with her _today_. Nerevar and the two others she shared abode with go out for the entirety of the day _every_ third day of the week, leaving our betrayer _alone_. Today is one such day.

So, my chum, will you do as Gray Fox commands and seek to punish the betrayer?"

The Khajiit's response was instant. "Khajiit will," he replied.

-o0o-

The two thieves entered the Talos Plaza later that very day. While the eyes of the Khajiit remained fixed forward, the eyes of the Breton could not help but wander and regard the luxuries about him. "What wealth our former thief lives in," he commented aloud. "It begins to put _my_ existence to shame, really… But let us hope that it has not caused Zela to _completely_ forget her oaths."

"Indeed," Dar'Raskar said back, who chose to say no more.

A few moments of walk later led the two to the address given to them by Gray Fox himself. Upon reaching the door, Vincent stepped forward and knocked thrice. A moment later brought the door open and the sight of their target, Zela, to appearance.

"Yes?" she initially asked. "May I help you?"

"Greetings, my pretty," Vincent said back, his tone the maintained regal and a friendly smile upon his face. "May my friend and I please enter?"

"… What business have you?" the Dunmer then asked. "Who are you?"

"Ha ha! Hear that, old friend?" he asked Dar'Rasker. "'Who are _we_?' she asks. Well, to be truthful, _I_ am one that she would not know, but _you_? How in Oblivion could she forget _you_? Quite the insult, would you agree?"

"Khajiit agrees," Dar'Raskar said. "_Quite_ insulting."

"Listen," the Dunmer said, "I know not who you are, but if you will not speak your business this instant, I am afraid I will have to ask you to le-"

"Oh, of course, where have our manners gone? I apologize. We, my dear, are here to discuss you lack of _loyalties_."

"Loyalties," Zela echoed. "What nonsense this is. Please leave." Then, when the Dunmer attempted to shut the door, Vincent shot his right foot forward and stuck it between the door and the frame, preventing its closing.

"Ah, be not so hastily," he taunted. "There is much more that we wish to discuss… and we would prefer to continue this _inside_." Bringing himself more forward, Vincent pushed the door open, forcing Zela to step aside. The two thieves then entered the Dunmer's home, Dar'Raskar making sure to lock and jam the door behind him.

Again, the Breton's eyes wandered, regarding the luxuries of the interior. "So beautiful," he commented. "It seems you truly _have_ been well off in your absence… But this homestead is no doubt the more doing of your _husband_, is it not?"

"Wha- What do you know of my husband!" Zela shot back.

"_Enough_," Vincent answered, "and _enough_ is all we_ need_ know… So, my dear, what _have _you been up to in your betraying absence?"

"Of what absence do you speak of?" the Dunmer asked.

"To you _Guild_: the Guild of Thieves. Did you truly think we would forget you? No, as they say 'Once a thief, _always_ a thief.'… Khajiit, have you anything to ask you former apprentice?"

"Apprentice?" Zela echoed. "What do you-" In that instant, upon her eyes giving the Khajiit close inspection, a look of recognition flooded upon Zela's face. "N- No! Are you… Dar'Raskar?"

"Indeed," the Khajiit replied. "Khajiit wishes for answers… Zela was good thief, one of best Khajiit ever trained… Why betray Khajiit? Why betray Guild?"

"I… I slaughtered an innocent… The life of a mere child was taken by the blade of my dagger… I could no longer continue in the Thieves Guild, knowing that I could possibly cause the further suffering of innocents."

"… Foolish."

"What? Do you feel no remorse for her? She was an _innocent_, a life that should never have been taken."

"Child was witness. Zela was wise beyond thought in silencing child."

"You bastards! I am ashamed to have once called you 'Master!'"

Enraged by such words, the Khajiit took a defiant step forward, only to be halted by Vincent positioning himself between him and Zela. "Now now," Vincent said. "Dar'Raskar, we are not here to cut each other's throats. Remember our mission."

"And mission be _that_?" Zela interrogated.

"Dar'Raskar and I," answered the Breton, "are her to convince you to come back to the Thieves Guild, of course. For what other reason would we be here?"

"To _kill_ me?" the Dunmer shot back. "That seems to be the lot in life for the many _other_ betrayers of the Guild."

"True, true… But given your connection with the current Gray Fox, he has exercised extreme patience for _you_, Zela."

"_Current_ Gray Fox? Who be he?"

"_That_ is not of your concern, my pet… Now, I shall give this one offer for the day. If you accept, all shall be forgiven. If _not_, then punishment must be given.

Come back to the Thieves Guild, Zela. Please."

The Dunmer stood in the face of the offer with great defiance. "Never," she stated, choosing to say no more.

Hearing her reply, Vincent voiced a sigh of disappointment. "Oh Zela, I had hopes that this day would not end in bloodshed, but if you are adamant in your decision… Go ahead, Dar'Raskar. Do as we discussed."

In the exchange between Zela and Vincent, the Dunmer failed to pay heed to Dar'Raskar, and it was in that folly that the Khajiit was able to sneak his way behind Zela. With that cue, Dar'Raskar produced rope from a pouch on his belt and, with lightning quickness, bound the Dunmer's hands and brought her to her knees.

Producing a knife of silver from beneath his shirt, Vincent took slow and measured steps toward the now defenseless Dunmer. "I _would_ say that it pains me to do this to you, Zela… But in truth, I have not sympathy for betrayers." The Breton brought the blade of the knife to Zela left cheek and, pressing it against the skin, swiftly jerked it back, cutting a wound that produced blood. It poured from the incision and down the left of her face before dripping onto the wood floor.

Vincent continued his assault on the Dunmer's skin. Two more cuts of Zela's left cheek brought the knife to her _right_ cheek, where three more were made. With the face injured, the Breton then made cuts along both Zela's forearms, producing more and more crimson. Her blue skin soon turned a pale shade of what it once was. Every incision that was made caused the young Dunmer to wince in pain. When she attempted to struggle, she only succeeded in amusing Vincent.

"Yes, please, _do_ struggle more," he taunted. "It will only increase the bleeding and, in doing so, end your life _quicker_." At the uttering of the last four words, Dar'Raskar, who still stood behind Zela, shot an enraged look at the Breton. The Khajiit received back a look of reassurance from Vincent, followed after by giving Zela a few more cuts along her forehead.

When the blade reached her stomach, the Khajiit's ears pricked upward and his gaze instantly turned to the door.

"Something the matter?" Vincent asked Dar'Raskar.

"Someone approaches. Khajiit and Vincent must leave," he said back.

"Agreed… Well, Zela, it would seem out time today must come to an end. We _will_ return at our leisure, prepared to _convince_ you further. Remember this: if you refuse again, _this_," he said, placing the blood stained blade before Zela's face once more, "will be in your future."

With that last uttering, the pair of thieves quickly sped off and exited the home through a window in the back.

As Zela bled in the center of the floor, the lock on the front door jingled and rattled as the person on the other side struggled to open it. A few moments finally had the door open and, from the outside, Hui appeared. "Strange," he began to mutter to himself, "the key did not initially work. I wonder- By Azura! ZELA!" Seeing the wounded Dunmer upon the floor, the Argonian rushed over and bent down next to her. "W- What in Oblivion has occurred!"

Zela could only muster from her weakened state a whispered "H- Heal me." The mage wasted no time in doing so. Channeling mana through his arms and out the palms of his hands, he quickly hovered his palms over the many wounds that marred Zela's skin. Four minutes brought the healing to a finish, but with the amount of blood Zela had already lost, she was in no condition to walk. Recognizing this, Hui picked the Dunmer up, carried her up the stairs and to her room, placing her atop her bed.

Once settled, Hui began with the questions. "Zela, who did this to you!" he asked. "Please, tell me!"

"… Thieves," she weakly replied. "Thieves from the Thieves Guild."

"For what reason would they do such a thing?"

"Two came today, asking for my return to the Thieves Guild. When I refused…"

"Barbaric! Despicable! Unheard of! Zaden must know of-"

"NO!" Zela suddenly exclaimed, catching the Argonian off guard. "You can _not_ tell Zaden of this, Hui. He must never know!"

"But Zela, those thieves came close to killing you! Had I not arrived when I did-"

"Their intent was not to kill, but merely to _convince_… I find this odd… Most betrayers of the Thieves Guild _are_ killed, but one of the thieves that visited me mentioned that I had a connection with… It matters not.

Hui, you must promise me, upon your _life_, that you mill not speak a word of this to Zaden."

"But Zela-"

"_Promise_ me!" she screamed.

"… Very well," the Argonian relented. "With a heavy heart I shall do as you say… but _why_? Why keep such secrets from him?"

"… When the time comes, _I_ will tell him," Zela answered before drifting off into sleep.

-o0o-

With his clawed fingers gripped around Vincent's collar, Dar'Raskar slammed the Breton against the closest wall he could find. "What in Oblivion was Vincent _thinking_!" he hissed. "Gray Fox's orders _not_ to kill Zela!"

"Hey, _relax_!" Vincent shot back, attempting to keep his tone of voice from rising. "I was merely _bluffing_ to the girl. I never had intent on killing the Dunmer. When I spoke of her dying, it was a _bluff_, made in order to frighten her into submission. Now please, _old friend_, do release your grip of my collar. This _is_ one of my favorite shirts."

Begrudgingly so, Dar'Raskar did relinquish his grip of Vincent, voicing a loud grunt in the process. "Next time _warn_ Khajiit when Vincent plans bluff!" he then threatened.

"Fine fine, agreed," Vincent said back as he straightened his shirt out, "… but all misunderstandings aside, I thought today's meeting went quite well. Would you not agree, old friend?"

"… Khajiit agrees," Dar'Raskar replied.

"Well, seeing as we are both _finally_ in agreement, what do you say to another tankard at "The Feed Bag?" You know, for victory's sake."

"Hmm… Khajiit agrees to this as well."

-o0o-

The two thieves continued to visit the homestead of Zela at intermittent times over the course of a month and a half. With every return, Zela would become more injured. With every visit of the thieves, Hui would be forced to both heal Zela _and_ keep the secret from Zaden, a task he found all the more hard to keep as time passed.

However, in the end, it would not be _Hui_ that led to Nerevar learning of his wife's predicament. Rather, this revelation would be set into motion by the observations of a saint…

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Here, we get a closer look at just what occured within the walls of the Imperial City. In the Cyrodiil story, Zaden, after getting settled in with his life in the Talos Plaza District, notices at one time, Zela began to act more and more reserved, choosing instead of heading out with her husband and friends to remain home. the answer to this trend would not come until Jiub told Zaden that he observed darkly cloaked individuals enter his home when he was not around. This leads to Zaden confronting Zela and Zela finally declaring his plans to leaved the Thieves Guild _forever_.

When the Vincent spoke of Zela connection with the _current_ Gray Fox, he was actually referring to Corvus, who was just referred to in the last chapter.

But as the last words of this chapter stated, Zaden would have known _nothing_ of anything of Zela's visitors were it not for the "observations of a saint..."

I think we all know who the next chapter will follow next...


	5. Saint Jiub

Chapter 5: Saint Jiub

A few months' time after Nerevar's grand conquest of Dagoth Ur, the Morrowind sect of the Mages Guild was hit was a major loss. The head of the Vivec Mages Guild, Master Wizard Trebonius Artorius, passed on due to the natural cause of old age. After his ashes were scattered from Vivec's Temple out to the sea, a collection of hand-written documents were uncovered in Trebonius's private quarters in the Vivec guild compound: a collection of journal writings, detailing the accounts of a many number of days.

While most were of trivial, day-to-day matters, and most had been lost to the decay of time, one series of documents detailed his training of a male Dunmer who would become known as Saint Jiub, Ridder of Cliff Racers.

* * *

_ A most interesting thing occurred today._

_ The morning began with little event. I spend much of my time within the silent confines of my quarters, mulling over yet **more** texts, attempting to translate them. At around noontime, one of the guild's __Conjurers, Sirilonwe, threw open my quarter's door with quite a loud bang. Just before I was about to yell at her for disturbing my studies in such a manner, she fell into a near-panicked account that a badly injured person was just brought through the guild's front entrance._

_ I sensed no trickery in her voice so, tearing myself from my work, I followed her to the upper level, to the main entrance room and, indeed, what she had explained was there in front of me. Placed on a bloody blanket, which was spread down near a corner of the room, was a badly wounded Dunmer. His dark clothing looked torn to shreds and was stained brown and red with his own blood. The exposed skin revealed that it was lined and striped with lacerations, all done by claws. In the state he was in, I was surprised to find out that he was still breathing._

_ The people that had brought him here, a group of recently freed Argonian slaves, began to explain the circumstances of their abrupt arrival: according to one of the females of the group, they had been traveling along the southern coast when they were cornered by a pack of Nix-Hounds. They were about to be attacked when the Dunmer, the one brought to me wounded and clutching onto life, jumped in and positioned himself between the Nix-Hounds and themselves._

_ The creatures attacked the Dunmer instead, pouncing atop of him before ripping and biting at his flesh. "A horrid sight," she described it as. The creatures seemed about a inch from killing the Dunmer but, as they continued to attack, he yelled out in pain "Stop!" and, much to their surprise, the beasts **did** stop their attack. Then, when the Dunmer told the Nix-Hounds to leave, the all retreated into the nearly woods. Shortly after, though, he collapsed, and the Argonians brought him here in the hopes a healer would attend to him._

_ I informed the Argonians that healers practiced closer to where the attack took place than we are located. When she said that she was aware of this, I then asked her why she and her group went through the trouble of bring the Dunmer here. She reasoned that the Dunmer used magic to drive the beasts off, and using that knowledge, she assumed the Dunmer was of the Mages Guild._

_ **That** was what caught my interest. While it is common knowledge that Wood Elves posses, at birth, a gift of controlling lesser wild beasts, stories of **non**-Bosmer practicing such magic is **very** rare to hear._

_ Normally, I would have sent the Dunmer to the nearest clinic to have him healed there, but because of the Argonian's story, I felt compelled to keep the Dunmer here, so that **he** may tell his side of the story. For the moment, he is now in a spare room in the lower dormitory. One of our healers is working on his wounds as I write these words down. She informs me he should be well and awake by tomorrow morn._

* * *

_ The Dunmer awoke today, sometime in the evening. He was initially drained to the point he could barely talk. But around the time the sun set, he had regained enough strength to speak. He told me his name was Jiub. When I asked him to recall the story of how he had become so inquired (to see if indeed the Argonians told the truth), he seemed hesitant at first, but through a bit of reassurance he finally relented. As the others had explained, he witnessed the group cornered by Nix-Hounds and he jumped in to protect him. The beasts jumped onto him and began to rip and claw at him. As the pain overtook him, he says, he saw the image of… a woman. He described her as a silhouette of white light and had an indescribably beautiful voice. She said to him "__Jiub, he who has been forsaken by one of my servants, your life is worth saving. You think you life has not a purpose? I shall give it purpose. With this gift I bestow upon you, the beasts of Tamriel shall bend to your whim. Use it wisely."_

_ When I inquired Jiub what the woman meant by "her servant," he then recalled an even more intriguing story. He first began by recalling an Imperial that me on the refugee boat that took the both of them to Vvardenfell before **then **telling of the story of how he attempted to rob a tent belonging to travelers in Nerevar's Pilgrimage to the Grazelands. As fate would have it, the tent he took hostage of was not only of the same Imperial he spoke of, but that he was Nerevar himself, and that Nerevar spared his life._

_ It was then I put some of the pieces together. I quickly informed Jiub that since the one that spared his life was Nerevar Reborn, a servant of Azura, it must have been She that spoke to him and bestowed him this power to control beasts. Needless to say, he took the news quite hard. He asked that I leave to give him a moment to think._

_ I took that time to plunge back into some of my books, to search up a recollection I had whilst talking to Jiub. After hour of search I came across the text I remembered. It told of the legend of the Beast Masters, a sect of magicka users that unlocked, no matter what race you were born as, the naturally-gifted power of the Bosmer to control lesser beasts. The Beast Masters existed nearly two centuries ago, but had mysteriously vanished, leaving behind them only their stories and legends. I pondered over these texts for hours and wondered to myself "For what reason would Azura bestow such ability to this Dunmer?" That night, I had a dream: I saw Jiub standing atop a high mountain and above him the sky was blanketed with winged creatures, all traveling North._

_ It was then I knew what the goddess's reason was: his destiny was to do something great with this power. I still do not know what exactly he is to do, but I now know what **I** must do: I must train Jiub to expand his knowledge of his newfound ability. This path will be an arduous one, that much I am already certain of, but I feel Jiub is destined for greatness._

* * *

_ Jiub's wounds have finally healed and he has regained a majority of his strength back. I met with him again and recalled my thoughts, retelling the legends of the Beast Masters and the vision I had in my dream. I offered him the chance to study beneath me, offering the opportunity to further realize the scope of his new abilities. Much to my surprise, his rely was a near-immediate "Yes."_

_ Jiub is now an Associate to the Mages Guild and has now received my full attention. I plan to begin our training tomorrow._

* * *

_ Jiub's training has progressed slowly in the its month. This is, of course, subjective thoughts of my own mind. There have been no accounts of Beast Masters in the last two hundred years, so to say the Dunmer's progression is slow could be false. Our training **began** slow though, starting in the first days attempting to control the actions of simple rats. It took him a week's time until he was able to command them to do simple commands: walk and speak were the extents of his commands. After another week, he was able to give more complex commands such as "attack": another rat was placed in the same cage as the first and they would fight._

_ After the second week, Jiub and I would take short journeys to the nearly Dern Plantaion, where the plantation's owner, Orvas Dern, granted us his permission for Jiub to test his abilities on the farm's netches. After ten days, Jiub was able to control the netches in the same way he controlled the rats. He was able to order them to move, speak, and attack (though he was ordered by Orvas to have them attack inanimate objects. He forbid the harming of his netches in any way, regardless of the fact that I offered to heal them if they had indeed been hurt.)_

_ As we trained, I noticed a change in Jiub's demeanors. No longer did he seem like the rogue he was when I met him. Somehow, he was becoming more and more calm (enlightened, in a sense.) The changes are subtle, but they **are** noticeable._

* * *

_ My apprentice Jiub has made great progression in his abilities of the Beast Master's power. Today, during his training at the Dern Plantation, he surprised even I when he controlled **two** betty netches at the same time. He commanded the two creatures to give an impromptu waltz, a graceful display many of the on-looking slaves found quite amusing. Orvas Dern, however, was less than pleased. I have a feeling our stay at this plantation will end in the near future._

_ I declared his mastery of domesticated animals to be complete. Next, I have the plans for him to test his abilities on **wild** animals. While domesticated animals are conditioned at birth to obey the orders of their masters, wild animals have no such innate conditions. They are born, instead, with a distrust of all other beings, and I believe it is **this** hurdle that Jiub must overcome in order to control the beasts of the wilderness._

* * *

_ Jiub continued to prove his mastery of his powers. It took another month's time, but has **surpassed** what his ability was with domesticated beasts. He is now able to control the thoughts and actions of multiple wild beasts. Today, during our walks in the wilderness, we came upon a pack of Nix-Hounds that were greater in size than the group he originally fended off (about six in number.) He was able to control all on them at once, even able to give each of them individual commands. Thrilled with this success, Jiub asked if it was possible to test his abilities on something "greater" than wilder beasts. He requested to practice on a daedra._

_ As we returned to the guild in Vivec, I informed him that seeking out a daedra would be a foolhardy prospect to carry out. After all, daedra are far from being "wild" creatures. They are not creations of nature, but the creations of a plane where a Daedric Prince holds control, thus making them, ultimately, their masters. They are born with the innate condition (much like domesticated beasts) to follow their Daedric Prince, and as such, may prove to be extraordinarily difficult to control._

_ When he asked about daedra that are summoned by mages, I then informed him that would be near-impossible as well, as creatures, beasts, and daedra alike are unbreakably bound to follow the orders of their summoner, and no magic in all of Nirn and beyond can change that. But still, even after I told him this, Jiub still insisted that he try. I eventually faltered and allowed him an opportunity._

_ We returned to the guild and I called upon a member, Malven Romori, to use his ability to summon for Jiub. In the main hall we three gathered to perform the test. Many others gathered around to see if the Dunmer would fail or not. Malven cast his spell and summoned a Scamp, a lesser daedra. I could feel the mana channel within Jiub as he passed it through both his arms and at the being. I could also see him struggle as he pushed harder and harder, pouring more and more mana through. But eventually, after giving all he could, Jiub tired out, showing nothing for his efforts. The Scamp was still a servant of Malven._

_ I knew from the start that he would have failed. It is impossible to divert the born loyalties of a daedra to either their Daedric Prince or their summoner. Still though, I had to admire Jiub's determination. He put all his energy into his attempt. If he put the same amount of effort he exerted** then** into controlling wild beasts, he could have controlled **much **more than several Nix-Hounds. There truly is no telling **what** he can accomplish._

* * *

_ Today began normally enough, but it quickly turned into something much more._

_ Once more, Jiub and I travelled the wilderness north of Vivec in search of creatures on which Jiub could test his ability. But instead of beasts, we came upon a ruined trader's came, located on the road from Vivec to Balmora. The bloody bodies of the slain were scattered about, all ripped and slashed with distinct claw marks. The same scratches marred the canvas of their tents. We searched for survivors amongst the wreckage only to come up with one._

_ While still clinging onto life himself, the Orc explained that the devastation was caused by Cliff Racers. With little warning, a diseased flock of the creatures attacked the camp and began to pick people off one by one. The only reason he survived was by hiding beneath a pile of bodies._

_ I watched as Jiub became visibly enraged as the man retold his account of the events, and as I healed the man of his wounds, my apprentice began to pace across the decimated camp, looking at the slain bodies with growing anger. "__Damn those wraiths with wings!" he exclaimed. "They are nothing but blight upon this land! All of their kind should be extinguished_!"

_I expressed my sympathies with Jiub, but I had to inform him that such a task was impossible, as the Cliff Racers are exponential in number and it would be impossible to rid Vvardenfell of **all** of them. Jiub, however, seemed to think otherwise. He then proclaimed that with the combined mana of all the mages of the Vivec Mages Guild, he could use his indoctrination powers to rid the island of **all** Cliff Racers._

_ It was then I remembered the vision in my dream I had shortly after Jiub first came to me: him and the flock of flying creatures overhead. I realized that **this** was what I witnessed: Jiub taking control of the Cliff Racers and sending then north! That was his destiny!_

_ I promised Jiub today that I would present this proposal to the rest of the guild and push the other mages into lending their power to him. I pray that all will go well._

* * *

_ I called a meeting with the guild today in regard to Jiub's plan to do away with the Cliff Racers. All the members of the guild present at the time filed into the dining hall and once all were in siting, I told them of Jiub's intentions. I was met with immediate outrage. The plan was deemed such things as "preposterous", "absurd", and "impossible." Jiub, who watched from a back corner of the room, remained silent and merely listened as his plan was utterly knocked back._

_ When I felt as if my ground was completely lost, I called across the room to Jiub and asked that **he** make his statement. He took my place at the head of the dining room table and began. He recalled in great detail the devastation of the trader camp (which had occurred three days prior) and what pain and death the creatures had caused. "All of us are aware," he said at one point in his speech, "of the stories of death these winged beasts have caused. Their kind has been the sole reason the dragons were driven into hiding! They have taken so much from Vvardenfell and have given little in return!_

_ But we now have in our hands a change to rid ourselves of this blight. I ask- No, I **plead** with you all, to grant me your power. I am **certain** that, with our combined strength, we can cast these beings from Vvardenfell forever… Please, just ask yourselves this: Are you content with letting more and more innocents die knowing that you had a chance to change things, but instead, chose to do **nothing**?"_

_ The room hung in silence for a moment after as Jiub and I awaited the answer from the others at the table. They looked to each other and shared looks of conformation until, finally, one stood up and declared that he votes in favor of the proposed plan. Shortly after, one person after another, the other members of the guild stood up and declared their support until **all** were in agreement._

_ The date we would attempt the act will be ten days from now._

* * *

_ Jiub, six others of the guild, and I set off on this most fateful of days in the early hours of the morn, before the sun had begun to appear from beyond the horizon, when much of the city was still sleeping. The sun was just making its appearance over said horizon when our group reached their destination: a grove of ancient trees, located just off the road between Balmora and Suran. There, mana flowed more naturally and with greater intensity._

_ Jiub sat down near the grove's center and the rest of us formed a circle around him. And there we remained, all of us around Jiub, focusing only on channeling our mana into him. The process was a hugely slow one; it took nearly three hours for all of us to channel every bit of mana into him, but it was eventually accomplished. From the silence the Dunmer suddenly spoke. "That will be enough. I am ready."_

_ When I reopened my eyes I could hardly believe what I was gazing upon: a near-blinding aura of deep blue light seemed to surround Jiub, the mana releasing in visible waves. He took a deep breath in, and when he exhaled, the aura blasted outward in all directions. It quickly became transparent, but I could **feel** myself engulfed in his presence. It reached for countless miles and miles until, suddenly, it stopped. Jiub then opened his eyes and uttered aloud this:_

_ "Travel north."_

_ A blink after, the power disappeared and Jiub collapsed, physically exhausted from exerting himself so much. As of now, it is impossible to tell if he was successful or not…_

* * *

_ Reports are flooding into the city of Vivec, all speaking of an amazing occurrence. From the northern cities of Khuul and Tel Vos, and the Ashlander camps Urshilaku and Ahemmusa, come stories of near-endless flocks of Cliff Racers, so many that they blocked the rays of the sun, flying overhead, all heading directly north. And from Solstheim, cries of both joy and outrage come from the northernmost village Skaal, where for many days straight, the bodies of Cliff Racers have fallen in and around the village, all dead from the cold._

_ When the event was finally connected to Jiub, our guild has seen no end from the eye of the public. For many days the front door of the guild compound has been carpeted with gifts for Jiub: gold, the finest picked fruits and vegetables from some people's crops, clothing, and much more to list off. And throughout all of this, my apprentice has remained quite humble about his accomplishment._

_ In fact, there are talks that he is to be dubbed a saint for his banishing of the Cliff Racers._

* * *

_ Jiub had talked of this day for many times previous. Though it would be irresponsible of me not to allow my own apprentice to venture forth on his own free will, to experience more and more things, I secretly wanted him to stay. But his mind was made up: he had every intention of returning to Cyrodiil, to the place of his birth. I inquired him as to why he wished to returned, especially since his bestowing of saintliness has showered him with many gifts. He gave a few reasons, but the one he seemed to stress most of all was "To find and old friend that gave him a second chance in life." He sought out Nerevar._

_ He left in the wee hours of one morn (much like the day he drove the Cliff Racers away) when Vivec was still bathed in the darkness of the night. He gave me his final farewell, thanking me for all the guidance I have given him, and left amongst many others on a passenger boat. As I watched the boat travel off toward the water's horizon, becoming ever smaller in my aging vision, I knew deep in my heart that I would never see him again._

_ But I was not sad, for I knew that I did all I could have done for him. Now, he makes his **own** destiny from this day forth._

_ Saint Jiub, how I will miss you._


End file.
